Deeply, Desperately (23 page)

"You're the only one he chose to marry."

She laughed. "I'm not so sure that's a good thing, LucyD."

"Did Dad say if he was going to meet with him?"

"No. Not a word. I think he's waiting on Sabrina to make the introduction. And I think he should be the one to tell Dovie, don't you?"

"Probably, but you're lousy at keeping secrets."

"Maybe I'll go away for a few days."

"Good luck getting out of the city tonight."

She sighed. "Maybe I'll be snowed in."

Being snowed in sounded wonderful to me. "How'd the court case go?"

"Five-hundred-dollar fine, community service, blah, blah, blah."

I turned onto Atlantic Avenue. The snow was deep. "Would any of those blahs be a warning about getting arrested again?"

"I don't know. I tuned him out after the community service. But have no worries, LucyD."

"You know, telling me not to worry only makes me worry."

"Genetic."

"Let me guess--on Dad's side?"

"Of course!"

We hung up as I parked my car in Dovie's garage. I trudged through the snow to my cottage, glad to see none of it had been trampled. No lurkers, no peeping Toms.

Grendel met me at the door with a forcible
mreow,
and I scooped him up. "A diet," I told him. "Soon."

His ears twitched as though he were saying he wasn't listening.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when my phone rang. I let go of Grendel and answered.

Aiden said, "I thought you might like an update on Sarah Loehman."

I heard voices in the background. "Are you still in Portsmouth?"

"Yeah. I'll be here a while."

"Is Sarah doing okay?"

"Seems to be holding up. The media caught wind. It's all over the news."

"Has Sarah seen her mother yet?"

"Earlier. It was a lukewarm reception on Sarah's part."

"And the kids?"

"They haven't seen her yet. Sarah's at Deaconess now, staying the night there. They're running some tests, checking to make sure she's truly okay. Scott's with her. And yeah, I'm man enough to apologize for judging him wrongly."

I smiled. "That hurt to admit, didn't it?"

"I think I'm bleeding. Hey," he said. "I got a call from Marisol tonight. Something about a party? You know what that's about?"

It was about Phase 2 of the Get Rid of Joseph plan. I lied. "Not a clue. Maybe something about Butch?"

"I'm not getting in the middle of that relationship," he said firmly. "No, thanks."

"One way to find out. Call her back."

"Can't you just ask her?"

"What is this, high school?"

He laughed. "Fine. I'll call her first thing tomorrow. It's late."

"She's working. Third shift at the animal hospital."

"I still think I'll call tomorrow."

"Chicken."

"You're not funny."

Laughing, I hung up.

I gathered up the courage to let go of my fear for a while and left my drapes open. I dimmed the indoor
lamps and turned on the porch lights, watching the snow fall in the glow.

An hour later, I'd checked e-mail, Googled Cutter, watered the Christmas tree, turned on the fireplace, cleaned Grendel's litter box, and whipped up a bowl of Lucky Charms for dinner. I gathered all my wrapping supplies, a cup of tea, and cleared a space in front of the fire to wrap presents.

Grendel attacked the bag of Christmas bows with gusto, catching one between his front paws. He flopped backward onto the paper I'd laid out on the floor.

"Scoot," I said, pushing him off. I scissored off the perfect paper size to wrap Sean's book.

The fire flickered. Fiery shadows leaped across the floors, the walls, blending in with the colorful dots of light cast from the Christmas tree. The snow kept falling outside. Carols hummed from my CD player, and I sipped my tea as I picked up Sean's present.

It was getting late, and I should probably be tucked into bed with visions of sugarplums dancing in my head. But although it had been a long, exhausting day I wasn't tired.

I couldn't stop thinking about my father, my brother, Leo and Lea, Sarah and Scott. And about Preston Bailey and how she'd worked herself into my life--and the fact that I didn't mind all that much, despite some very big character flaws.

I gently covered Sean's book in tissue paper, then carefully wrapped it in colorful snowman paper. Grendel pounced on the ribbon as I curled the edges with scissors.

Odysseus watched us from his wheel. He had a Popeye look to him, complete with perpetual squint.

My gaze wandered to the coffee table. I'd printed out a picture of Cutter I found online. It amazed me how much he resembled my father, not just in looks but in traits too. The quirk of his lip, the glint in his eyes. I settled Dovie's tea caddy into a cardboard box. I tried to focus on what I was doing, but was distracted by the picture. So much so that I finally turned it upside down. The last thing I wanted to do was break Dovie's present before I'd even paid off my credit card bill.

Grendel had settled into my lap, purring contentedly. I gave up on pushing him away and worked around him. I tied a piece of ribbon into a bow and pushed the box under the tree. I sipped my tea and nearly dropped the mug as someone knocked on my door.

My pulse jumped in my neck as I set Grendel on the sofa. "Who is it?"

"It's Sean."

My heart thrummed. I flipped the dead bolt, slid the chain back. I barely noticed the cold and the foot of snow outside. Thoreau barked and pranced and dashed into the house.

Over my shoulder, I saw Grendel pounce on Thoreau. Both rolled together in a furry ball across my wrapping paper and trimmings. I turned back to Sean, my throat tight and thick.

Dark circles hung beneath his eyes, and his ashen skin blended with the snowy backdrop. I was unsure what to say. Unsure if I had any words at all.

The ocean crashed against the bluff as snow fell, thick and heavy.

Sean drew in a breath. "I miss you too, Ms. Valentine."

With that I was in his arms. He held me tight, my head buried in the curve of his neck as tears trickled down my face, seeping into his shirt.

He gently nudged my chin so he could look me in the eye. "Can I come in?"

I stepped inside, held open the door. He brushed
by me, kicking off his snowy shoes onto the floor next to the door as I closed it and used the dead bolt.

Though he was wearing only a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, I could feel the heat of his body from a foot away. His gray eyes were pools of warm liquid silver in the dim light, and I couldn't look away, so mesmerized by what I saw in the depths. The want. The need. The hunger. The desire.

For me.

"Hi," I said lamely.

"You can talk," he said in a whisper, a smile curling the ends of his lips. "I was beginning to have my doubts."

My heart free-fell to my toes. It was the first thing he'd said to me when we met, the day I wondered if love at first sight was possible. I now knew it was.

"Y-you want some tea?" I asked, even as my body fairly purred under his intense gaze.

"No."

"You want to sit down?" I asked.

"No."

I knew what he wanted.

I wanted it too.

But there were so many reasons not to, to keep holding back. To not give in to the passion, the desire, the love.

With everything I've ever wanted in my whole life standing before me, I couldn't help but hear Maggie O'Meara's voice in my head, rhapsodizing about holding and dealing.

I didn't know what was to come of his and Cara's relationship. I didn't know when Cupid's Curse would
strike. I didn't know what would happen with his health ...

All I knew was that I'd lost my heart to him the minute we'd met. And I was sick of taking our relationship slowly out of fear. I wanted more. I wanted it all. And I was going to take it. Eventually I would have to deal with my decision, but for now ... I was going to reach out, grab hold, and not let go for a long, long while.

"How about helping me wrap presents?" I ventured playfully.

His eyes flashed, darkened. "No, thanks."

I smiled, bent down and picked up a bow from the floor. I set it atop my head. "How about helping me unwrap presents?"

I took a step forward, pulled the bottom of his shirt up, revealing a thin trail of hair stretching from his belly button down beneath the button of his jeans. I ran my fingers along the hard planes of his stomach. Muscles quivered beneath my touch. Boldly, I grasped the hem of the shirt, pulled it up over his head. I tossed it on the floor. "I'll go first. So far, Mr. Donahue, I'm quite happy with my gift."

When I glanced at him, I was taken aback to see moisture shimmering in his eyes. But before I could question my decision or what I saw, he cupped my face with his hands and brought his lips to mine.

My breath caught. Or maybe my heart had stopped out of sheer pleasure. I wasn't sure. I wrapped my arms around his neck, plunged my fingers into his hair as we touched, tasted, tempted each other.

Reaching down, I unbuttoned his jeans. He groaned,
which made me all that much bolder. I slowly drew down his zipper.

His lips slid down to my neck as his hands found the buttons on my shirt, undoing each one, slowly, carefully, methodically, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin of my breasts.

Sean gently pulled my shirt from my shoulders. It fluttered to the ground.

Skin to skin, heart to heart.

We didn't bother with the bedroom, just sank to the rug in front of the fireplace. Snow swirled outside, and the colorful lights of the tree glowed on our skin. I took it all in, his breaths, his kisses, his gentle touches. My heart nearly bursting, my sighs, my body thrumming with happiness.

Deja vu. I smiled as I recalled having already seen us doing just this. I would die a happy woman if I kept having visions like those. Or if he kept touching me like that ...

I cracked open an eye early Wednesday morning. Light spilled in from the kitchen and I realized it had been the coffee grinder that had roused me from a deep, wonderful sleep.

Rolling onto my back, I bit back a contented sigh.

Tuesday had passed in pure bliss.

It had been a day of snow angels, hot chocolate, warm fires, tender lovemaking, hot sex. Of playing, laughing, exploring, loving.

Yesterday had not been a day of doubt, of deep thoughts, of thinking about anything other than each other.

Sean and I had not answered our phones, watched TV, checked e-mail, or ventured farther than the yard. We neither saw nor spoke to anyone other than our furry friends. Even Dovie had kept her distance, a miracle in itself. No doubt she'd figured out what was going on here and was futilely hoping a great-grandchild was in her future.

But now, as the scent of coffee tickled my nose, teased my senses, it was time to come back to reality. As much as I longed to stay this way, life had to go on. The roads had been cleared of two feet of snow, and even the walkways and paths at Aerie had been shoveled.

It was time to face all the things Sean and I had been avoiding.

I threw the covers off, grabbed my robe. In the living room, Sean had the fire going, and Thoreau and Grendel were curled together in front of it.

"He's not going to want to leave," Sean said, motioning to the Yorkie with his mug.

I sat on a kitchen stool and measured my words carefully. "He's welcome to stay here as long as he wants."

Sean glanced at me. "He might take you up on that."

"I hope he does."

"Coffee?"

"Definitely."

He poured me some. "Your phone almost shimmied off the counter."

It had been recharging, set on vibrate. I checked it for messages. I had three voice mails waiting.
Everyone was back to work after yesterday's reprieve. "Life calling."

Sean leaned against the sink, hooked his thumbs in his pockets. "I suppose we can't ignore it forever."

Coffee scorched the back of my throat, a welcome burn. It took away from the sting in my nose, the lump in my throat, the twisted mess in my stomach. I didn't want this, my time with Sean, to end. "No."

"I talked to Sam this morning. Still no news on the current whereabouts of Leo's daughter."

I was determined to find her. "We might need to take a trip to the Bahamas."

"The horror."

I noticed Cutter's picture on the fridge, the edges frayed from claw and teeth marks. I pointed to it. "Grendel's handiwork?"

"Caught him tearing it apart this morning." His forehead wrinkled as he studied the image. "Is this your dad when he was younger?"

I shook my head.

"Wow. Dead ringer. Who is it?"

"My brother."

Sean sputtered. "Your what?"

"I just found out on Sunday, and my father only found out about him a week before that."

His eyes widened, the gray lightening to a soft pearl color as my words sank in. "Whoa. Wow."

"I know. His name is Cutter. Well, Oliver. McCutchan."

"How did you find out?"

I shared the whole story, starting with the invitation
and ending at the gallery and my father's phone call.

"I'm sorry," he said.

I tipped my head. "For what?"

"Not being around for you."

Ah, well. I couldn't deny I'd wanted him with me. "It's okay," I said, wishing it were true.

Sean's phone rang. He checked the ID, silenced the phone, and set it back on the counter. I didn't need to ask who was calling. It was clear from the tortured look that had crept into his eyes.

Setting my mug on the granite island, I slipped off the stool, padded to the windows. Bright sunlight bounced off the snow, spilled into the living room. Sparkling snow stretched to the edge of the bluff. Beyond, rough surf surged and ebbed, giving and taking, holding and dealing.

I gathered what little courage I possessed and asked, "Any news on Cara's condition?"

"No."

"But her mother is with her now, right?"

"Should be. I left before she arrived."

I straightened magazines on the coffee table, plumped pillows.

His voice was tight as he said, "Cara's going to take a medical leave of absence from her nursing job until all this is figured out."